The Red Shoes

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  This isn’t Texas anymore.

  And some flaming queer boy decorated this hidey-hole.

  In the lavish cellar, which I hate even to call it a cellar because it’s more of an upscale storage pantry in a million-dollar home, I quietly admit how strung out I am. I did too much.

  “Where the fuck am I?”

  “You are in your fantasy,” Daisicle informs from the steps. I blink. “Welcome!”

  “Oh, shit…”

  With her nose high in the air, she says, “I would prefer if you would go outside to do that.”

  I don’t need to ask how she is speaking because it doesn’t matter. I’m inside my hard drive, where I believe anything is possible. I rub my face, knocking the bill of the ball cap on my head. I pull it off. It is silver, sparking, and so flamboyant. And gay.

  Pushing back my bangs, I toss the hat on backward. And look at the rest of the get-up—black mesh muscle shirt, tight leather shorts, and black cuffs on both wrists.

  “… Why do I look like this?”

  “Because you have a great physique?”

  I wiggle in their snug fit. They’re kind of biting my balls. But the alternative is nothing, and that will not do. I move past Daisicle and note her matching silver, sparkling collar.

  It’s like Deacon fucking dressed us.

  A giant, translucent orb about four feet in diameter spins before me. “What the…”

  “Your vision,” Dais reminds, standing near my leg. “It’s warped.”

  Inside of the orb, I see all of the things I’ve done—the beach in Maine where Rebecca died, meeting Kaci in The Downbelow, seeing Iris for the first time, and eating melon balls, and so many whippings from Mistress Serene…so much blood…so many scars.

  Suddenly, the orb vanishes, and a beautiful, young woman in full submissive gear appears before me. Her leather harness showcases her lovely breasts, and her buttocks are enhanced by the g-string of leather, the perfect frame to tease a Dominant. “Hello, Salvatore!”

  I immediately recognize the voice. “… Anna?”

  “I am the Good Bitch…”

  I lift a brow and stroke my goatee as I take in the sight of a twenty-something Anna. She is ridiculously gorgeous with long auburn curls and comforting blue eyes. Her pouty lips puckered with the perfect shade of come fuck me red.

  Holy, fuck me. Please. Fuck me.

  “Watch it,” Luca says in my head. “Anna belongs to me.”

  “She’s…”

  “I am aware,” he replies. “Just as Iris is.”

  “Watch it,” I hear my inner voice say. “She belongs to me.”

  “You have eliminated the Bitch of the Below.”

  I give a curious look. “… I have?”

  “Yes! You have.” I consider Nissa and know I was not responsible for her demise. That is on someone else’s hands. “Look at the magic boots you’ve been given to carry you on the journey.”

  I glance down at the silver boots matching my hat. Oh, lord. “I really need to get home.”

  “You must go to the castle.”

  Confounded by all of it, I stutter out, “… The castle?”

  “Come!”

  I think, I already did.

  Following Anna’s splendid ass, I sprint up the staircase to the open door. The colors outside are bright and unyielding as the panoramic scene etches into my eyes. The striking display is every fantasy I’ve ever had. “Oh, my God…”

  “Welcome to our Kinky Kingdom!”

  “Don’t act like you haven’t thought it,” Dais points out, jumping onto the rock ledge on the side of the cellar as I gaze with a dumbfounded look at the masses. Dominants and submissive. A continuous chorus of cracking whips, snapping pops, and rattling chains.

  Tethered hot air balloons in heart and rainbow shapes float in the sky along with multi-colored strobes and tables filled with cupcakes surround a huge champagne fountain with a sculpture of a dripping vagina. At the top of the basin, a blue flame shoots upwards as sultry and tantric rhythms fill the air. “This all came from your imagination.”

  I take it all in. “There are enormous unicorns, twice the size of an average horse, with rainbow manes and tails and girls on foamy playground equipment…”

  “I didn’t say your imagination was normal,” Dais rebukes. “I do have to ask what is with the clothespins dangling off the ropes.”

  “Don’t… Just don’t.” Huffing at Dais, I step forward as Anna smiles and marvel, “It’s…amazing…”

  “Is it everything you ever dreamed of?”

  “I need to get home,” I persist, puzzled by my presence in this place.

  “Oh, Salvatore, there is only one way out.”

  “The castle,” I answer, understanding how stuck I am. “Go to the castle.”

  “Yes, you must speak with the High Monarch about returning home.”

  I must be high.

  I pick up a glass of champagne from one of the scantily dressed serving wenches. Her boobs aren’t just stuffed into the corset but on full display. Anna slips her fingers around a champagne stem and proceeds to pour the bubbles over the woman’s nipples. She dips down, and her tongue flicks out, and…

  Oh, fuck…I need to go home…nowala!

  “Where is Cruz?” I beg as Anna partakes in the succulence of arousing the woman’s flesh. Her tender rosy peaks rise. “Cruz!” I shout. “Cruz! I need you! I need help!”

  Instantly, half a dozen willing and eager slaves kneel before me. Each submissive is dressed differently, but the gear portrays the same message—Take me. Claim me. Use me. “What do you need, Sir?”

  “Dais…”

  “Cruz isn’t here, Sal,” she informs, enjoying the rub from one of the slaves. “He isn’t part of this. This is your fantasy. You should enjoy yourself.”

  “… By swimming in a sea of sex?”

  “If you like the water,” Allie lures, appearing out of nowhere. “There is a pool.”

  The sex minions pull back what looks like folding barn doors to reveal a twenty-foot long, six-foot deep pool. People are fucking underwater… How is that even possible? “Are those mermaids?”

  “You can do anything you want here, Sal,” Anna elaborates with a gentle smile. “Anything at all.”

  “Anything, Salvatore,” Mierne says, drawing my attention with her accent. “Let’s play!”

  “Yes, let’s…” Mistress Serene agrees near Anna as Emily pirouettes by in black gauze-like fabric. She doesn’t even dance. “He has such a fantastic ass.”

  My head is going to explode.

  This is the end of me.

  Here lies Salvatore Raniero; he did too many lines and ended up in sex heaven, or hell, depending on the second.

  “I want to go slide,” I mumble, gawking at how much fun they’re all having. Everyone is loving, laughing, and living…everyone but me. It is then I realize that I need change.

  Joy is the name of the game.

  And while I’m here, I plan on having a helluva good trip.

  Shall we?

  On my fourth turn down the slide, I splash into the sweet, edible foam. I stay in the large wading pool way too long, and Mierne bumps into my backside. Her legs straddle around my waist as she latches onto my body, and I rise. The seductive look in her eyes is hungry. She wants sex. Sex with me. Sex in this pool of overly sugared foam.

  “Where to now? Seesaws? Merry go round? House of mirrors?” With every word, she grinds her apex against my growing erection. I can’t deny being turned on, but this is too over the top. My nineteen-year-old would have played for days and never left, but I am not him any longer. I am more focused, mature, and wise. I know who I am and what I want. Rolling her hips against my rigid dick, she continues, “Or are you in the mood for something naughty? A lashing? Violet wand? What is your pleasure?”

  I know, but I can’t say. At least, not to her.

  I want my girl and my boy.

  That is all.

  Scanning around the epi
c scene, I search for Good Bitch Anna in hopes of getting away from Mierne. It sounds weird to say it, but she is no longer what I desire. Not anymore. And her method of play isn’t mine now. I set her down on a table and kiss her on the cheek.

  “I’ll be back,” I lie through a sauntering grin. “I need to look around.”

  “Be careful out there!” she warns as Jack scoops her up into his arms. “Remember the lines.”

  Lines build boxes. Boxes I cannot stand to be put into because they bring labels. And labels are the worst. They deliver Sudden Soul Death, leaching every gasp of air and squandering the passion into nothing more than used tissues riddled with cum.

  Four different submissive offer themselves to me as I make my way to the far side by Anna. One of them is a deceptively good looking young man I wouldn’t mind getting up on a rack. When he passes by, I turn to stare at his well-sculpted ass.

  Oh, fuck.

  This place is so much trouble for a bad boy like me.

  I gotta get home.

  A man in a black suit and fedora stands near Anna. Luca Raniero. I stand off to the side and watch them for a long bit. She is giggling happily. He is full of panache, put together, and stable. He’d never be seen in leather shorts, but I am not him, and he is not me.

  I am the upgraded version.

  “Are you ready, Anna?” I overhear Luca say. His coaxing, deep voice runs through my spirit, as his hands ease over her supple flesh. She is so young, so beautiful. I’ve always understood the attraction because as strange as this may sound, I have felt it, too. I don’t see the wear of years and age upon Anna, but the sensuous mystique of a willing submissive awaiting her eternal Master. “I will take care of you.”

  I consider interrupting them, but I become distracted by a sexy siren in fire engine red latex and six-inch stilettos. Her pointy ears and tail epitomize the signs of a devil. The face mask dips just below her nose, but when she zeroes in on me and smiles, I tense up.

  “Amber…”

  She is wearing all of the jewelry I gave her over the years. I glance back to Anna, hoping for someplace to run and hide, but she is gone. Luca is too. “Sally,” she purrs, latching her finger beneath the collar on my neck. “Come dance with me.”

  “I am no longer yours,” I declare, knowing how the shenanigans have ceased since her arrival. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

  “I’m everywhere you are, sweetheart.”

  “She’s the Wicked Bitch of Woe!” Charlotte cries out, clinging to my arm. “Make her go away!”

  Lifting her hands, Amber cackles with a hateful glee as balls of radiant fire spring from her hands. “How about a hot tub, whores!” She tosses them to the pool and steam rises. “You can’t ever make me go away! I’ll get you, my Pretty Boy!”

  She whirls into a vortex and leaves a puff of crimson smoke behind. “She wants to ruin all our fun!” Zoe shouts, distraught. “You mustn’t let her win! You need to use your dick to get us out of this sticky situation!”

  My brows lift high on my forehead. “… My dick?”

  “Your dick is the only thing that can save our Kinky Kingdom!” Skeeter adds, panicking. “You must take it for the team!”

  Take it for the team?

  What exactly?

  “We’re your submissive sanctuary, and we’ll do anything you ask, but you must save us!” the girls all speak in unison, and at any moment, I am sure they will break into some melodic song.

  “They’re right,” Uncle Joe imparts. “We cannot continue without you breaking the Wicked Bitch of Woe’s spell!”

  I reluctantly give in. “What spell is that?”

  With her big eyes, Skeeter peers up to me. “We can’t come.”

  “You mean, you cannot orgasm?” They nod. “And I must use my dick to unlock her crazy chaste spell?”

  “Yes, you are the only one who can save us now, Sal.”

  “What do I need to fuck to make this happen?”

  Skeeter eyes Georgia in the line-up. She is wearing a flowing cape with her cotton candy color hair as she rocks a rainbow Dominatrix outfit. “You need to go to the castle and speak with the High Monarch.”

  Feeling like it is all too much to handle, I pause. My golden dick cannot save them all. “Do any of you have a smoke?”

  The mass of people synchronously pull cigarettes out. I take Georgia’s from her fingers (and the whole pack) as Skeeter lights it. I swipe the lighter from her and plant a kiss on her cheek. “You need to be Master Nero. You must stop denying your true feelings about us! Admit your love of the fetish world and seek grace from the High Monarch.”

  “For your protection,” Georgia says, handing the bullwhip to me. “Use it well.”

  “Please,” Allie begs, kneeling before me. “Make it so we can come again, Master Nero.”

  I burn through the smoke as I scout over their helpless faces. I undo the collar on my neck and wrap it around Skeeter’s neck. “You are mine.”

  She repeatedly blinks with a stunned and honored daze. “I can fuck you good.”

  “Oh, believe me, you will.”

  A commotion breaks out in the back as my sister, Cat, approaches. “Please, help us, little bro. Let the High Monarch ride that platinum rod and save us from extinction.”

  Seeing my sister in slave gear is oddly…hot.

  But not in the way you think.

  She is a female version of me—years ago—eager to lend a hand (or mouth or other orifices) and willing to take a risk for the sake of their sexual gratification. I am enormously proud of her for stepping forward. “Please, Lucas…”

  Taking a drag on the cigarette, I gaze down at the silver boots on my feet. “You want me to save you?”

  “Yes, please,” Cat replies with a fierce determination. “Only you can do it.”

  I take the hat and place it on her head before handing her the bullwhip. “If I don’t return, it’s up to you to use your golden arch.”

  “Of course,” she cries, sobbing tears of joy. “I will carry your whip with great regard.”

  I pull my hair. “But how do I get to the Castle of Cum?”

  “Follow the golden road…” Skeeter offers, waving her hand out as they clear the area. “It will lead you to the High Monarch.”

  I shake my head, thinking my golden cock is some divining rod, leading the way to sexcellence. “I just need to get back to Texas…”

  “But if you get to the castle, the High Monarch can break the Wicked Bitch of Woe’s vile spell!”

  “Uh huh,” I mutter, chain smoking. I lean down to Skeeter and give her a Raniero-tongue-lashing. Her lashes flutter as we separate. “I’ll do it.”

  “Thank you,” Skeeter whispers. “So much!”

  “Follow the golden road?”

  Their desperate chant fills the air. “Follow the golden road!”

  PART III

  Three

  Polychromatic Technodreams

  “What have we gotten ourselves into, Dais?” I ask as we trod down the path. We’re a reasonable distance from the Kinky Kingdom en route to the Castle of Cum, for which I cannot even see due to the amount of overgrowth.

  The jungle-like atmosphere is dark and foreboding, like the kind of place where I find bodies and recreate the moments before death. I’m not intimidated in the least, but my senses heighten in the crepuscule. I live in the black recesses of sociopathic minds, and I do it well, but this is my fantasy, and I hate to think I’m this brooding and grim.

  Off to the side, a mirage—for lack of a better word in my fucked-up state—of Mario’s Deli appears. I’m slightly hungry, albeit more curious, and wander close to the door where I see the Old Suits—Luca Raniero, Giuseppe Gennaro, Victor “Saint” Cruz, and Demetrios Cristos. At another table, I spot Daizou Ito talking with my maternal grandfather, Pietro Veramonte.

  “You need to leave them be,” Dais insists, bouncing her paws off the boot on my calf. “Really… nothing good can come from you going in there and causing a ru
ckus.”

  “They’re all dead though,” I say, understanding that perhaps I have died, too. Maybe this is my altered version of heaven, and this place isn’t a fantasy, but my new reality. “If I go talk to them, maybe I can change the future.”

  Hopping down, Daisicle sniffs around and tilts her head like I’m speaking a foreign tongue. “Lucas Salvatore, this isn’t a time-traveling story. If you go in there, you are making assumptions about what they know. Sure, Luca knows you, but none of the rest of the do. You are a stranger to them.”

  Bitch on four-legs has a point.

  I wait too long at the window, and Daizou Ito, head of the Japanese mafia, spots me. He excuses himself from my grandfather and slips outside. He was gunned down by Saint Cruz (Deacon’s father), and that one move solidified his position as a power player. He took out a God. In doing such, Saint took his place as a King and ran his Reckless Rebellion MC in New Orleans until he sold it off before his death.

  Now, Deacon is resurrecting it.

  It is a peculiar situation in our triumvirate, though as Keishi Nakamura and Saint Cruz worked together to make this happen, much like Iris and Deacon work together to make me happen. Iris and Deacon come from the blood, which doesn’t hesitate to make a decision. They are do’ers. They act. They accomplish. They achieve. They have no fear of making the harsh cuts, even with the risk of their emotional fulcrum. They stabilize in chaos.

  And I can be that way as well, but mine is more haphazard and less succinct. I tangle up in feelings. I watch Daizou Ito as he approaches me. He is a short man and rather good looking. “Mr. Raniero…”

  I bow. “Chairman Ito, a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Likewise, though I am sorry it had to be under such situations.”